


Worse

by iamee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Blood, Clothed Sex, Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, Future Fic, Hate Sex, Internal Conflict, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Linear Narrative, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamee/pseuds/iamee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is on the run, but pays Will a visit. Will figures he needs to stall him until the police gets there, whatever it takes. He didn't anticipate the consequences.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For <a href="http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=6512363#cmt6512363">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worse

**Author's Note:**

> This is the closest to fluff I can get with these two.

**Worse**

 

 

I hate you. He manages not to sob it, even as the grip of Hannibal's hands tightens around his hips, tall fingers brushing just above his tailbone. I fucking hate you. Instead, his head falls back, exposing his throat, making the curve of his neck long and vulnerable. Paled from the November sun and kissed by goosebumps in the chill of the living room. There is a blue mark blossoming, already, where Hannibal got under the collar of his shirt for the fraction of a second. It doesn't matter. Under his clothes, under his skin, in his mind, moving _inside_ of him, so it. Does. Not. Fucking. Matter.  
"Yes," he whispers, hips moving on their own by now, the pain dull and full, so full. And. "More."

 

There is a cold draft when Will opens the front door and he just knows. Perhaps that's what comes with waiting, fearing, longing for it, for closure, when you've been thrown off the tracks and down into darkness. Not even the darkness he feared as a kid but the one opening up when you look too deeply into other people's eyes. Some people's eyes.  
They take a moment to watch each other, both ends of the corridor, and then Will closes the door, slowly. It's 7:34.

 

"William."  
He doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to hear the slapping of their skin or the way their breathing hitches and falters through the room, bouncing off the tapestry and spinning them into a world of smell and sound. Like nothing exists but this. Them. He leans down, his hands on Hannibal's bare chest, their faces close and finally he sees amused surprise bleeding into pure lust when he makes his body tense, makes himself moan from it. Because he has to.  
"Will."  
He wants to hurt him. So he does.

 

Will is supposed to call the local police station at 7:45 every night. He welcomes the routine. It kills every trace of social life but that's just a bonus. Hannibal is on him before his fingertips have even brushed the phone. Good. They'll be here in no time if he doesn't call. At least that's what they told him, over and over and over again. He's on his knees, blood rushing wildly in his ears and the words muffled.

_Just wanted to talk... good evening... we used to talk so well... oh William... I missed you_

And when he stumbles into the living room, hands wet with blood or sweat or both, and breathing hurts through ribs he shouldn't feel, he sees something in Hannibal's eyes. Maybe it's always been there and he was too busy going insane. Maybe it's new. But what it is right now is a chance.  
He's on Hannibal before he can make himself stop. Their mouths crush together in the most literal sense, white fire shooting up his jaw and he curls itching fingers at the nape of his neck.  
"I need you."

 

His thighs quiver where he presses them to Hannibal's waist. It's worse like this. And better. He can rake his nails over exposed skin, dig bruises into the space under Hannibal's shoulder blades, lick the blood off the cut he left in his lips. And feel pride.  
"You're enjoying this."  
He wants to take speech from him, wants to ruin him, and he hates himself for it.  
You're a monster.  
"You feel. So good." He says, hips snapping forwards and skin breaking under his nails.

 

They sink, wrestle, fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs and curses with no language. Will comes out on top when he starts tearing off clothes, careless and fast and. Slow down. Make him stay.  
Hannibal's hands are all over him and he pushes them off, pins them on the ground for one second, his voice a low growl he didn't know himself capable of.  
"No. Just you."  
And there's the smile he wants to tear off his face and this probably means he's still not sane. Worse. So much worse. And Hannibal doesn't shut up.  
"You're beautiful like this."  
He looks up to meet Hannibal's gaze, lets go of his wrists and it's so quiet he can hear when he unbuttons his jeans. It's then that he smiles back. Because they both know it's an illusion of power, a game just like everything and for this moment in all its awfulness, Will is okay with this fact.  
"Then make me ugly."

 

It's been seconds, years since they started and Will clings to numbers. 7:45. Like the mere idea of safety could stop this from becoming too real, keep the sensations at bay when all the feels, all he tastes is inhumanity.  
"Dear William." Hannibal breathes into his neck or maybe by now it's just an echo or words in another language and Will gives a strangled sound, control slipping when the next thrust goes deep again and pleasure sparks in his fingertips. This has to be over before he gets hard and he allows himself a sob-laugh, the wretched sound making Hannibal drive harder into him.  
"Oh," he says, their foreheads pressed together, and his thighs damp with sweat, his breathing ragged when his shirt brushes his cock. Oh. Please. No...

 

Will pushes back onto two spit-slicked fingers while they kiss. Only he's never kissed anyone like this. And he never wants to do it again. The floor is cold underneath his knees and it can't be comfortable for Hannibal. He _hopes_ it's not comfortable for Hannibal, but there is no complaint. Just palms on his thighs and lips on his jaw, and the hint of teeth at his earlobe and that's when it nearly becomes too much.  
"Fuck me." He groans against Hannibal's cheek and thinks about pulling a trigger.

 

He pulls back enough to see it happening in Hannibal's eyes. Their bodies locked together like two puzzle pieces and the moan breaking from lips he's kissed bloody. And then there's heat gushing through him, over his bruised insides, his own cock twitching in response to being _possessed_ and he closes his eyes. 

 

He's breached. He's filled. He's crying out. He needs it to be pain, not pleasure. Needs it to be something he hates with every fibre of his being or otherwise he will truly lose himself. Irrevocably. And it's that. Just the hurt. Just the disgust. And still he hears himself saying.  
"Have me."

 

Will's pulling on his boxers, heat trickling out of him sluggishly, when there's light and noise outside. He's slipping into his jeans, zipping up when they storm the living room. He looks composed when they wrap Hannibal into a blanket and lead him away.  
There are no questions, not for tonight. Because sometimes people prefer not to know.

It's only later, alone in bed, that the words Hannibal whispered when he pulled away make sense.  
"I'm looking forward to your visits."  
Will comes with two fingers inside himself, salt on his lips as he still refuses to say his name.

 

**The End**


End file.
